Page 64 of Common Grounds

No time like the present to shoot my shot, I guess. “Do you want to come in and have one with me?”

“Oh, um…” She slides her weight to the other foot, then seems to realize she’s still holding the bag of peas. She sets that on the ground just inside the door. I catch a whiff of her cucumber shampoo and inhale it deeply, pain be damned. It’s worth it. As she straightens, her gaze snags on my bare chest again. She swallows heavily as she shakes her head. “No, I’d better go.”

I try to be understanding, even as my heart falls. I’m sure this evening has been much more than she bargained for, and we probably all need some time to process. But I don’t hide my disappointment when I say, “Okay, sreco. Thanks for the peas. I guess I’ll see you… soon.”

She blinks a few times, nods, and turns to leave. I’m sure I detect some regret in the shuffle of her feet, and the knowledge of that will have to be enough for now. I shut the door quietly behind her.

I take the frozen peas out of the grocery bag and discard my now-sopping towel in the sink. I’m hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion. That towel will have to be tomorrow’s problem.

A knock sounds at the door again. Maybe it really is the cops this time, but I don’t even care. Emery came to see me, and that’s enough to carry me through a lot worse.

I open the door again and am beyond relieved to see Emery standing there. Her red lips are swollen like she’s been biting them, and her cheeks are pink. She looks flustered and unsure.

“Hi again.” My voice is unintentionally husky, but I can’t hide it anymore. She’s so beautiful. And she came back.

“What does sreco mean?” she asks, the word falling clumsily over her tongue.

Not what I was expecting, but I suppose I can roll with it. I reach a hand up to rub the back of my neck. I knew I’d have to explain it eventually, but now that the time has come, it feels a little awkward to be doing it in the hallway of my apartment building. While shirtless. “Why don’t you come inside?”

She doesn’t waste any time brushing past me and into my apartment. I close the door and pick up the six pack from the floor to bring it over to the small counter in my tiny kitchen. I twist off two tops and hand her one of the bottles. She takes a generous swig, then sits at the table next to the bed. I start to follow her, then think better of it. “Let me grab my shirt.”

“Why were you answering the door shirtless in the first place?” she asks.

“Funny story,” I say, gingerly sliding my shirt over my head. The meds must be working, because the pain is dull as I pull it down my torso. “I thought you might be the cops, and I thought I could get some sympathy points if they could see my bruise.”

“He’s not going to call the cops.” She takes another sip of her beer. “He was drunk and disorderly. He’ll sleep it off and wake up to the realization that he was a dumbass. I wouldn’t be surprised to get a text from him in the morning apologizing.”

“Does he text you often?” I ask, carefully lowering myself into the seat across from her.

She shakes her head. “No. Never. I haven’t seen or heard from him in years. From what I gathered, the woman he cheated on me with dumped him, and he was looking for something to fill the void.”

My mood sours. “He cheated on you?”

She eyes me warily. “Don’t get all defensive again. He’s not even here, and what’s done is done. Yeah, he cheated on me. He had me convinced I was emotionless and… well, you heard him. Cold. He wanted someone warmer. But I think he was trying to make himself feel better about his shitty behavior.”

I take a sip of my own beer to calm myself before responding. “You’re not cold.”

She laughs humorlessly. “Well, I’m no ray of sunshine.”

I shake my head slowly, leaning into the table. “You don’t have to be. You’re confident. Collected. Determined. All good things.”

She holds my gaze as a slow smile spreads her red lips. I’m seconds away from pulling those lips to mine when she clears her throat and asks, “So. Sreco. What does it mean?”

I huff. “You want the long story, or the short story?”

Her eyes light up. “I’m a journalist. I always want the long story.”

I give her a wry look. “Are we on the record?”

“Depends on how juicy it is.” She’s teasing, and I like it. I lean back in my chair, the picture of casual confidence.

“Okay. Well, my grandfather immigrated here from Croatia after World War II, which you know.” I pause for her to confirm. “My father was born here in the 60s. Dida—my grandfather,” I add for her benefit. She nods as if she put that information together already, so I continue. “He taught my father Croatian. Baba, my grandmother, was from Croatia, too. They were proud of their home country. To hear Dad tell it, he might as well have grown up there with Croatian church, Croatian Sunday school, Croatian neighbors…” I trail off, and she chuckles. I pause to take a drink and study her. She’s leaning forward slightly, her eyes trained on me. Enraptured. Taking mental notes, I’m sure. I like this look on her. I like telling her about my family, my history. I like how interested she is. I like her.

“Anyway,” I can’t help but smile. “That’s not really the story. My dad grew up speaking Croatian, but my mom didn’t. She’s not even Croatian at all, actually. So, I never really learned. I can understand it, more or less, but I don’t speak it well, and I certainly can’t write or read it. I knew enough to understand what my grandparents were saying, and that was about it. But my dad used to call my mom all sorts of pet names in Croatian, and she’d always laugh. And then they’d kiss, and I’d pretend to get all grossed out.” I chuckle at the memory. “But sreco was always my favorite name he had for her. I think it was hers, too.”

Emery swallows heavily and takes a shaky breath. “What does it mean?”

“Literally, it means ‘luck’ or ‘happiness.’ In the language, happiness and luck are intertwined,” I say, but that’s not quite it. “It’s also used for something sweet. She joked that they were lucky to have each other. That his muffins were what made her fall in love with him in the first place, and he liked to say she was his sweet inspiration.”

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